


Home For Christmas

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Eve, Christmas Fluff, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Fluff, Happy Ending, Lestrade-centric, M/M, Mycroft To The Rescue, POV Lestrade, Poor Lestrade, Reunions, Separations, Television Watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 20:10:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5429213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Lestrade wanted for Christmas was to spend Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with his boyfriend, but a snow storm in Switzerland may make that impossible, so Lestrade resigns himself to spending Christmas Eve at home with the telly for company. But things don’t work out <i>quite</i> the way he expects, in both good and bad ways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home For Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alafaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alafaye/gifts).



> So I posted [a wishlist on Livejournal](http://holiday-wishes.livejournal.com/2176841.html) for a really great community there and in turn I am answering requests for fanfiction, and **alafaye** gave me a wonderful prompt for fluffy Mystrade fic (" _finally home together on Christmas Eve/Christmas in front of the fireplace/tele_ "). The television schedule I used is the one for this year so it's set on Christmas Eve 2015. But anyway, I hope you all enjoy it!

  
**6 AM**  
BBC 1  
_Breakfast_   


He wasn’t exactly fond of waking up alone. Done too much of it in his bachelor days, done too much of it when his wife was sleeping around. He preferred to share his bed with his…whatever Mycroft was. Mycroft wasn’t one for terms of endearment, and as they were keeping their relationship fairly quiet for a multitude of reasons, he just referred to him as his lover for the most part.

But he would _like_ more. It was 2015, for God’s sake. Marriage between two blokes was legal. They could be more open.

As it stood, Mycroft was _supposed_ to have been there the night before. All he had asked Mycroft for this holiday was to spend the actual days of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with him, holed up in his flat, ignoring the world and doing whatever they damn well pleased. Mycroft had been rather surprised that was all he’d wanted, and as that got him out of the holidays with his parents, he’d agreed. Then he’d been told he needed to go to Switzerland for a summit.

Then he’d gotten snowed in.

And now it looked like he'd be spending the holidays alone.

He supposed he could go into Scotland Yard, or drop in on the Watsons and Sherlock and Molly; he’d been invited to their Christmas dinner. But that wasn’t what he’d wanted, and he’d rather stay around and mope if he couldn’t have his boyfriend…lover… _Mycroft_ at his flat.

He got up and made his way out to his kitchen, turning his telly on so he’d have noise. BBC One’s Breakfast blared and he tuned it out. Typical morning affair, he supposed. 

Just not what he’d wanted for his Christmas Eve morning.

Not what he’d wanted at all, he thought as he started making his coffee.

  
**8:38 AM**  
BBC 1  
_Breakfast_   


He was usually out the door most weekdays so unless he was sick or it was a rare day with an odd shift or a late court hearing he didn’t spend much time actually paying attention to the various presenters and reporters on BBC One’s Breakfast. He had his favorites from what he did catch as he went about his morning routine, but what he realized today was that morning telly really wasn’t his thing.

Either that, or he shouldn’t be watching bright eyed and cheerful people blathering on about Christmas stuff when he wanted to go sod the whole day.

One of the women was saying something, either Louise or Carol, when his mobile began to ring. He groaned, not wanting to answer, but when he picked it up he saw it was Mycroft. He accepted the call. “And how are you this miserable morning?” he asked, settling into the sofa.

“At an airport, trying to get back to London, in order to give you your Christmas gift,” Mycroft replied.

Greg blinked. “What?”

“I am not the type to ruin anyone I care for’s day if I can help it. I may not be able to give you Christmas Eve, but I am trying my damndest to be back for Christmas and I will discretely arrange for you to have Boxing Day off as well.”

He felt a wide grin spread on his face. “It’s good to date the government sometimes.”

“I suppose it is,” he replied. “And as you are being inconvenienced by your…boyfriend’s…job, the government should rectify the inconvenience.”

Greg grinned even wider. “Thank you, Mycroft,” he said quietly.

“Don’t thank me yet. I’m still in Switzerland. I have to switch to text now.”

“All right,” Greg said. He paused. “Love you.”

“I love you too, Gregory.”

  
**11:50 AM**  
BBC 1  
_Miracle on 34th Street_   


_I wanted to watch the original,_ he typed into the chat feature on his mobile. _I’m stuck with the remake because everything else on the telly is boring and I’m not in the mood to watch films on DVD without you._

 _If I make it back to London tomorrow we can watch the DVD,_ Mycroft typed back. _I prefer it anyway if forced to watch Christmas movies._

Greg grinned slightly. _Who forces you to do anything?_

_Her Majesty, for a start. And you can coerce me to do any number of things, with the right encouragement._

_I wouldn’t force you to do anything you don’t *really* want to do,_ Greg typed back. _But if I persuade you I at least make it worthwhile._

 _You most certainly do,_ Mycroft replied. There was a pause. _It appears luck may be on our side, Gregory. They are letting planes leave._

He felt hope stir in his heart. He might not get Mycroft today, but Christmas…he could still get him all day tomorrow. That would be something. _Maybe there’s something to all these Christmas miracles after all._

 _Perhaps._ There was another pause. _I have to see about getting a seat. I will even take economy class to get back to London._

_If you make that sacrifice I’ll reward you well. Promise._

_I’ll hold you to that._

He set his mobile aside and settled in to watch the movie more. Hopefully their luck would continue to hold out. He didn’t want his holiday to be absolute shite, for him to spend it away from the person he loved. Because now that he knew Mycroft loved him back he was fairly sure things would change now, and he could only hope they would change for the better.

After all, he doubted they could get worse.

  
**2:07 PM**  
BBC 2  
_Great Expectations_   


It always surprised people when they found out that he liked classic literature. People found out he was a copper so they assumed he was stupid but that was far from the truth. He wasn’t a literary snob, but he admired quite a few writers or many different types. He’d switched over to BBC 2 just after he finished texting Mycroft and saw that “A Tale of Two Cities” was on and had settled in to watch that, and then realized that this one was on next. He’d pulled himself away quickly to make a sandwich because really, this was one of his favorite films and he wanted to enjoy every minute of it.

He’d just settled onto his sofa and picked up his sandwich when his mobile buzzed. He sighed and set it back down on the plate and saw it was from Mycroft. This could spare a moment of his attention. He pulled up the text. _On the flight. Will be at Heathrow late. Not sure when. Weather’s rough. Will get car to your flat. MH_

He frowned slightly. No word on whether he thought he’d be there tonight or tomorrow. He supposed he could stay awake late, wait up for him and see. He was used to putting in all sorts of odd hours thanks to the fact that no one ever committed murder on any sort of set schedule; he could pull an all-nighter if it was called for, he supposed. He just wanted to fall asleep next to Mycroft tonight. He dreaded the idea of sleeping in an empty bed again.

He actually really dreaded the idea of sleeping in an empty bed ever again, come to that.

Maybe that should be something they should talk about, and probably sooner rather than later, he thought.

  
**4:10 PM**  
ITV  
_News_   


He had been channel surfing, just flipping around, and stopped for a moment on the news. Nothing interesting, nothing that mattered to him. Only thing of interest was that Mycroft had timed his exit well; there’d been another massive snowstorm in Bern almost immediately after he’d left and the planes were grounded again there. He’d been damned lucky to get out when he did.

Christmas luck, Christmas miracle…something or someone wanted them together. Maybe it was fate or kismet or whatever. Point was, he was grateful.

He decided now would be a good time to get up, stretch a bit and take care of some business. Maybe rummage around and see if there was something more substantial to eat, or to take out to make later. He moved away when his mobile buzzed. He knew that sometimes you could use your mobile on flights but roaming charges were exorbitant.

Which probably meant it _wasn’t_ Mycroft.

No, no, _no_. He wasn’t getting called into a scene today. He wasn’t getting pulled into any cases. He’d earned these two days off and by God, he was _taking_ these two days off. It wasn’t until his mobile began to ring a moment later that he hung his head and he knew that damn it all, that wasn’t going to be an option. It wasn’t going to be his day. He made his way to his phone and say it was Sally. He answered the call. “Yes, Sally?” he said with a sigh.

“Sorry to disturb, but—”

“It’s fine. Nothing else has gone to plan.”

“Oh. Murder at the London Eye? You were requested.”

He sighed again. “I’ll be there in forty minutes.” He hung up and turned off the telly. He sincerely hoped that Mycroft didn’t arrive before he got back home.

  
**10:48 PM**  
BBC 2  
_An Ideal Husband_   


Greg trudged inside and the first thing he noticed was the telly and lights were on. The second he noticed was the smell of Indian takeaway. And the third was the familiar figure sitting on his sofa. He shook his head. “I should have known with the way today was going you’d get here before I got home,” he said, taking off his coat and hanging it up.

“When I had my PA find out your location I was told you were occupied,” Mycroft said, standing up. His suit jacket was off and his shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows, as well as his tie was off and the top few buttons were undone. Greg always enjoyed seeing him like this. “I assumed you would enjoy the treat.”

He nodded. “I do. It’s nice not to have to cook.” He looked over at the television. “Damn. I’d wanted to watch that one, too.”

“You do enjoy that particular film,” Mycroft said with a warm smile. “Fortunately, I believe ‘Casablanca’ is starting shortly on Channel 5, if you’re not too tired from your dealings with my brother and your sergeant and the imbeciles underneath her.”

Greg gave him a grin and shook his head. “Nah. I only yelled a little today. Curling up with you and eating takeaway in front of the telly sounds like a good way to unwind.”

Mycroft nodded. “And I suppose we could see about making this a more…permanent arrangement, possibly,” he said as Greg moved closer and they settled on the sofa. “If you would consider moving in with me.”

Greg’s eyes widened for a moment and then he settled in next to Mycroft before picking up the container of Shatkora chicken he knew was his. “I think I’d like that,” he said, feeling Mycroft relax beneath him. This was good, he realized. No, this was more than good. This was perfect. This was more than he could have ever hoped for.


End file.
